


To Be Loved

by serendipityeuphoria



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipityeuphoria/pseuds/serendipityeuphoria
Summary: As Ghost sat huddled on the bench, their eyes drifting shut, the last thing they registered was the warm golden light shining from the windows around them and the laughter echoing from one of the houses.It must be nice, they thought, to be loved.
Relationships: Grimm & The Knight (Hollow Knight), Hornet & The Knight (Hollow Knight), The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & The Knight, The Knight & Myla (Hollow Knight), The Knight & Quirrel (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 305





	To Be Loved

Dirtmouth’s grim pallor hadn’t changed in the slightest since the fall of the Radiance. Ever gray, ever fading, even the plum purple of the of the Grimm Troupe’s tent could not liven it. It’s somber, dim blue-gray was only pierced by a few windows leaking golden, welcoming light - although Dirtmouth was still small and sad, it was slowly repopulating. Quirrel, Myla, and Ghost’s siblings had settled into the few still-liveable houses, and although Myla was still shaken from the Radiance’s taint and although Quirrel still felt a strange urge to descend deeper into Hallowest, they were happy here, happy within Dirtmouth and the safe shallows of Hallownest. 

Quirrel patrolled near Fog Canyon and the Fungal Wastes, spending much of his time within the Teachers Archives, slowly deciphering the leagues of information within those strange tubes of acid, unraveling stories about wyrms and knights and gods. Hollow’s wounds, Ghost realized, would never heal. The crack on his shell had smoothed over but was still visible once you looked, and his right eye would forever be blind, his left arm forever severed. Even so, even as Hollow flinched back at the mere sight of orange air, he began accompanying Hornet through her patrols of the shallower areas of Hallownest. With the Radiance gone, most bugs had almost immediately died, drained of the cursed Infection that enslaved their bodies, keeping them alive. Hornet and Hollow had spent days trying to revive the minds of those who hadn’t died, but it was for naught: they were entirely reverted to their base instincts, lashing out at any bug near them, willing to resort to cannibalism for food. The first time Myla had decided to explore the Blue Lake with Elderbug, they had been followed into the lake by a starving husk. Ghost had spent the next two days clearing the entire Resting Grounds to make sure Myla could relax there safely. She had assembled a small hut there and often sat there, clumsily carving with her still-shaky hands, staring over the Blue Lake with awe in her eyes, different from the kind Ghost saw in Quirrel’s. Quirrel’s love was tired and thankful, as if he too realized how close he had been to death when Ghost had found him, as if he too cherished every second he had just as Ghost did. Myla’s love was whole-hearted, joyful, a celebration of the beauty in this world. 

Indeed, there was beauty in this world.

When Hollow had first discovered the soothing verdant of Greenpath, he had refused to leave for days, spending hours admiring the dewy vegetation. When Ghost had first shown Quirrel the Void (and warned him never, ever to enter the Abyss without Ghost), he had stared down into it’s darkness and echoed Ghost’s own thoughts: it was, strangely, beautiful. When Elderbug had first seen the Crystal Peaks, he had murmured that he now understood why so many descended into Hallownest, and why so many hadn’t come back. 

But, of course, Ghost wasn’t welcome within this beauty. 

It had become obvious when Ghost had finally, after hours of searching, found a small, cozy house in which Myla would feel safe and comfortable. Dirtmouth had once been an expansive town, but so many years later, it’s houses had decayed to rusted metal and cracked wood. After carrying Myla’s meager belongings from the Crystal Peaks to her house and helping her set up everything, Ghost had stepped outside her house, exhausted, and found that there was nowhere for them to rest. A few days later, they were told by Hornet and Hollow that they could live with them, but Ghost thought they could see glimpses of annoyance and fear whenever Ghost asked a question (maybe they were imagining it, they murmured to themselves, and they shot down that thought: who were they to think they were normal enough, good enough, to live with and be loved by anyone?). 

The final sign of how unwelcome Ghost was here came a week after they began living with Hornet. When they fell asleep, Ghost couldn’t help but dream. Nightmares still lashed out at them whenever they dared to close their eyes: intricately carved spears of light piercing through their body, pain ripping through their every cell. The Radiance’s glow swarmed their vision, that familiar call of rage piercing his ears as rays of inevitably deadly light approaching them. There were other nightmares, too. They dreamt of the Path of Pain, of the neverending, ear-grating symphony of buzzsaws and the _shick, shick_ of spikes, of the desperate and terror they felt as they hurled themself again and again and again into pain, of the hopelessness they felt when they realized that the statues had infinite soul, that death could not release him, that he was _trapped forever_ until they conquered it. The first night in Hollow and Hornet’s home, Ghost had seen Hollow run into Hornet’s room, crying, and wondered if he’d had a nightmare. The next night, when that vision of light plagued their dreams, Ghost had allowed himself to think that maybe, just _maybe,_ they didn’t have to do this alone. They were wrong. They had seen the anger and disgust in Hornet’s eyes when they had run to her, sobbing, and they couldn’t help but wonder why Hornet would take Hollow’s head into her lap and whisper soothing words to him and yet glare so reproachingly at them. 

They had left soon after.

Their animosity toward Ghost was, as hurtful as it was, unsurprising. Hornet and Hollow had grown up together, both in a living hell: Hollow working so hard to suppress the emotions Hornet knew he had and Hornet losing her mother and brother so early in her life. After seeing their hatred, Ghost had tried to become less of a bother, left early in the morning and returned late at night after wandering aimlessly within Hallownest, until they figured that Hornet and Hollow were better off without them and left. 

Ghost wished they could go back.

Dirtmouth didn’t welcome him. Hornet and Hollow, childhood friends and broken-but-healing siblings, were happy together, Cornifer and Iselda would never welcome them (they hadn’t asked, but why would such a happy couple want them, anyway?), Elderbug was no longer holding Ghost’s flower and instead held a pink crystal within his hands from Myla, Quirrel and Myla were both never home. Dimly, Ghost thought this wasn’t _fair._ When they had arrived this town had been entirely faded, comprised of only Elderbug: _they_ had rescued Sly and Bretta and Zote, _they_ had rescued Cornifer from Deepnest, _they_ had dragged Hornet down to the hot springs even as void leaked out of their cracked mask, _they_ had infused Hollow with so much soul Ghost themself nearly cracked again, _they_ had saved Myla, but they realized it didn’t matter. Ghost himself had been born into unfairness. They had been infused with void, they were broken, abnormal, and their only job had been to save Hallownest. Now that that that task had fufilled, they were not welcome within the realm of the living. Ghost spent most of their days roaming Hallownest, patrolling it’s deeper areas: they eradicated the Kingdom’s Edge of giant hoppers, wiped out the race of Primal Aspids, held the younger weavers as they slowly died, and killed whenever they needed to. Sleep had become a problem. The infected bugs had stayed away from benches for some unknown reason, perhaps because of the soul that leaked from it’s iron surface. Now, whenever Ghost dared to close his eyes, a primal bug would lunge at him, starving for food. 

As a result, Ghost was exhausted.

They hadn’t slept in three days, and while they had just planned to stop by Myla’s house and show her a particularly beautiful relic they had found, it was so bone-chillingly cold that Ghost didn’t want to make her come outside, even for a moment.

The cold wasn’t the welcoming type that numbed his limbs and senses, no, it tore and bit at his skin, every gust of wind bringing sharp blades of cold, and Ghost shivered with cold and wrapped their holey cloak tighter around themself.

Dirtmouth should be a safe place to sleep. No one would see them here, on the bench, alone: they wouldn’t have a reason to look outside, much less approach the bench. It was so cold that maybe, just maybe, they could die tonight. 

As Ghost sat huddled on the bench, their eyes drifting shut, the last thing they registered was the warm golden light shining from the windows around him and the laughter echoing from one of the houses.

It must be nice, they thought, to be loved.

~ ~ ~

Hornet first noticed Ghost when she caught a glimpse of their ragged cloak in the corner of her vision. Even now, she didn’t know why Ghost had left her home. She admitted that she had been distant, but she couldn’t help but see the young Hollow within them: broken, hurt, still shouldering a burden far heavier than any bug should deal with. That night, as they had burst into her room, tears of void dripping down their face and tiny hands pawing at her robe, she had felt burning-hot anger: at the Radiance, at the Pale King, at the world that had created and broken this kind, loving bug.

They were kind.

Too kind for Hallownest. She had first realized this when she saw them patiently luring a vengefly toward them, suffering it’s bite again and again just to save one of the trapped grubs. She had seen the kindness they provided to Cloth, their silent companionship to Quirrel, their endless persistence to fulfill Zem’er’s final wish, their horror and sorrow at Myla’s madness. 

When they had left, quietly, a week later, she’d assumed they’d left to live somewhere else. Not… here. Alone, shivering on the bench in a tattered cloak, body covered in bruises and cuts, exhaustion visible even with their inscrutable mask. And although Hornet wasn’t the caring type, she couldn’t help but excuse herself from the dining table and step into her room. There had to be some way she could help.

Even though it had been years, Hornet still owned the clothes from her childhood. They were precious to her, woven by Herrah herself, but they were also the only cloaks she had that would fit Ghost. Shaking the cloak until it was free of dust, Hornet patted it’s fluffy, pastel pink cloth before stepping into the freezing cold and approaching the bench. Ghost usually would’ve jumped up by now, eyes wide and alert, but they were dead asleep. Hornet carefully wound the cloak around Ghost, unfastening the worn clasps on their old one and removing it carefully from beneath. Their form was so tiny, so vulnerable. _Childish,_ she thinks, and something inside her breaks. 

~ ~ ~

Although Grimm’s first dance had been spectacular, he couldn’t help but wonder when this discarded vessel would provide the next. Grimm could feel his child growing, could feel the two flames the vessel had collected, yet, even so, he was impatient. The vessel. What a strange name for such a talented dancer. They had matched his every step, had returned each of his fiery movements with one of their own, darting between each attack he flung at them like an illusion, a ghost. The little ghost, barely as tall as his legs, had danced until Grimm found himself defeated. And yet here the little ghost was, asleep on the bench, shivering with cold. 

No one, not even sharp-eyed, closely-watching Hornet, could really understand what happened. Maybe it was Grimchild who told his father of their exhausted, freezing dance partner, maybe it was Grimm himself who noticed, but all she saw was a flash of red flame and Grimm appearing, and then disappearing. Behind him, he left a fluffy red scarf that nestled above the cloak, warm and beautiful, and although Hornet might’ve been imagining it, she thought she saw him give Ghost a lingering glance of fatherly affection before teleporting away.

~ ~ ~

Iselda hadn’t seen the little one in so long that the gift she had set aside for them had begun to collect dust. The small quill, forged by a traveling nailsmith she had met, was made of beautiful, coiling, purple-gray metal. Stored within a soft velvet box, Iselda carefully picked it up and smiled at Corny before stepping into the freezing cold. Someone had removed the little one’s usual blue-gray cloak, and Iselda couldn’t help but smile when she looked over them, sleeping soundly in pink and red. Silently placing the small box beside them on the bench, Iselda couldn’t help but glance back at them before stepping back into her warm home. 

~ ~ ~

Elderbug missed the gentle glow of the Delicate Flower. The piercing, entrancing glow of the crystal was beautiful, but different from the warm light of the petals. Even so, after nearly dropping it the first time he had seen Hornet, Elderbug had decided it was better off safely in a vase on his table. 

The flower that stood beside the Delicate Flower would not, however, break that easily.

Although it didn’t have the same ethereal light as the Delicate Flower, the flower itself looked nearly identical but for the fact that it was a snowy pink. Elderbug had descended into Greenpath together with Myla, and they had found it blooming beside the first bench. Wrapping himself in his cloak, Elderbug stepped outside and approached the little one carefully, placing the flower just below their left horn.

He hoped they would like it.

~ ~ ~

While Hollow didn’t know much about the little Ghost, they did know that anyone in their right mind would hate sleeping without a pillow. It didn’t seem right, though, to disturb them: Ghost was surrounded by gifts, a flower placed gently between on their head, and they looked peaceful. Sighing, Hollow grabbed his smallest, softest pillow and blanket and stepped outside. Carefully, Hollow moved Ghost until he was laying on the bench and carefully tucked them in and propped their head on the pillow. Placing the flower back where it was, Hollow stepped back and stared. Ghost looked so peaceful, sleeping on the bench. They were now laying on their side, the scarf creeping up onto their mask, a single hand sticking out of the blanket, resting on the edge of the pillow. 

If Hollow had a mouth, he would be smiling.

~ ~ ~

Ghost woke up to… warmth?

No, that was wrong. It couldn’t be warm, Dirtmouth had been freezing cold when he’d fallen asleep. Had they died? Despite themselves, they felt a tinge of panic: they hadn’t completed Grimm’s dance yet, hadn’t given a Delicate Flower to Oro. But, no, they couldn’t be dead, they could feel a fluffy cloak and blanket wrapped around them and a pillow underneath their head and the slightest touch of something on their horn. Bringing their hand up and carefully removing the bloom, Ghost stared at the beautiful flower in astonishment. They had gifted many Delicate Flowers to many bugs: Elderbug, Hornet (although she hadn’t accepted it, Ghost had laid it next to her on the floor of the Black Temple), Sly (Hornet had told Ghost she had seen a glimpse of it’s pale glow in one of his drawers), and had laid a flower next to Songstress Marissa. 

But Ghost themself had never before received a flower.

Looking down at himself, Ghost stared in astonishment at the pink cloak wrapped around him, the scarf around his neck (doubtlessly from Grimm), the beautiful box by his side, a small pillow and blanket that he recognized from Hollow’s room. This warmth, the softness of the blanket and pillow and cloak and scarf… 

Ghost was crying.

Why were they crying? This was good, this was warm, this was soothing. This was the first night they had gone in months without a nightmare.

This was love, wasn’t it?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very sorry I forgot to put this when I first posted this. This fanfiction is based off of this wonderful animation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZhx6VnMJQ4


End file.
